


An Interrupted Phrase - Halloween Prompt 2020

by ShadowSparrow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Friendship, Gen, Implied Violence, Zombies, descriptions of loss of body parts, salty language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowSparrow/pseuds/ShadowSparrow
Summary: Prompt: An aspiring trumpet player died, but they kept playing as a zombie. Now their lips are falling off. (I altered this prompt to fit Clement's proper pronouns. Link to the page where I got these prompts in the notes.)Marissa and Clement are best friends to the end - but Clem's harebrained idea to get more practice resulted in them being bitten by a zombie! Now the performance of a lifetime is coming up, and they're having a little trouble "holding to together." Can Marissa help her friend realize their dream? Will Clem manage to stop falling apart and smelling like a corpse long enough to avoid the Zombie Cops? Read on to find out!
Kudos: 1





	An Interrupted Phrase - Halloween Prompt 2020

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt source: [Prompt](http://jauntywriter.com/2018/09/30/31-halloween-writing-prompts/)
> 
> EDIT: My editing program is a complete poop and kept messing up Clem's pronouns! I caught an error with one right after this went live. Please, if you see them get misgendered in the text, do not hesitate to tell me! I think I caught all the errors, but I might have missed one.

“This is a terrible idea.”

I leant over Clement, fingers shaking as I applied a thin layer of glue to their lips. Or I applied glue to the ragged skin where their lips _should be_. The flesh that should sit there lay on the table nearby.

“Just do it!” Clement demanded. It came out slurred - lacking lips will do that - but I got the gist. “The concert starts in ten ‘inutes.”

I tossed them a glare, but kept gluing. “How do you expect this to work? You’re losing pieces, now. Not to mention the smell!” I nearly illustrated my statement by tossing my cookies when I inhaled through my nose.

I wasn’t being fair. Clem was well-behaved for the average zombie; they hadn’t tried to bite me or anyone else. Odor and rot were beyond their control. But this stupid damn plan was going to end with us in The Pit!

It was their fault we were in this mess. I hadn’t wanted to break curfew just so we could break into the theater and practice more. I understood Clem’s inability to practice at home - we first bonded over our terrible families, after all - but we were practicing for hours each day as it was. 

Although if some stranger told me that Clement Avery would die from their obsession with the trumpet, I’d have believed them. I loved the violin - I wanted to make a career of it - but Clem lived and breathed the sounds they made from that golden instrument. Getting bitten by a zombie on the way to practice seemed heartbreakingly on-brand.

Clem returned my glare, but didn’t answer my complaining. Probably because I was gluing their lips back on. I positioned the edges - grateful for their bushy beard, because it hid most of the damage - and we waited for it to set. “How do you plan to keep the Ravens from figuring out that you’re a zombie the moment you step on the stage? Forget your solo, you might not even get out of there alive - well, kind of alive.” I cautiously released the decomposing flesh and took a step back. It seemed to hold all right.

Thinking of the Ravens brought out an involuntary shudder. That wasn’t their actual name - they had an official government designation, just like The Pit - but that didn’t matter. They’d been the Ravens for as long as I or anyone else remembered, and they only had one purpose: capture and kill zombies, and throwing sympathizers in The Pit.

“Listen, ‘Riss,” Clem sighed, “I’ve gotta do this. This solo is my dream. And I’ve got a plan for the stench.” Clem opened their backpack and began pulling out air fresheners of different varieties and scents. My eyes went wide - the number seemed endless!

“If you use all of that, you’re gonna stink like a preteen boy who robbed the AXE aisle of the supermarket. _And_ a zombie. No chance in Hell will that work.”

“It’ll work. I’ll run out, do my solo, and run.”

“Please don’t run; I don’t think I can superglue a leg back on.”

A brisk knock startled us both. “Marissa, Clement! It’s time!” We called back an acknowledgment with varying levels of excitement. It looked like we had run out of time to argue - we could only continue. 

“Give me one of those cans of air freshener. We gotta be fast!”

* * *

A few minutes later, I approached the other performance members, violin in hand. Jenna sneezed, “Jesus, Marissa! Did you bathe in perfume?”

“Sorry,” I tried to look apologetic, noting the (suspicious?) glances from some of the others, “Klutz that I am, I accidentally doused my performance clothes.” Marcus narrowed his eyes at me and my stomach clenched. Was I acting too odd? What if someone called the Ravens?

The mic screeching distracted us from our conversation, and we listened as Professor Ambrose introduced the program and the first performer. “Where’s Clem?” Jenna whispered.

“They’re going to be late. Clem got hit worse by the perfume than I did. Don’t worry, they won’t miss this performance for anything.”

This earned me a quiet laugh. “Yeah, Clem wouldn’t miss this even if they were a zombie!” _If she only knew_.

We waited for our performance cues - some checking the tuning of our instruments, others paging through scripts and music scores, still more swiping at cell phones. I usually felt excited at this point, but churning terror was roiling in my gut instead. Nervous hands shook as I adjusted the pegs and a twanging _SNAP_ rewarded me as my E string broke.

“Fuck!”

“Better fix that fast, Clem’s on next.” Jenna tossed at me as they called her name. Nodding, I scooped up my instrument, and raced back to retrieve a new string from my case.

I passed Clem, but I didn’t have time to do more than smile. They gave me an encouraging thumbs up and continued on their way. I desperately wanted to ignore that I continued to smell death rolling off them.

Inside the same tiny room that had earlier hosted my amateurish attempts at zombie first aid, I removed the broken string and rewound the new one. A sense of gratitude assailed me: at least this time, my patient wasn’t alive. Or _un_ -alive. The intercom kicked on and Professor Ambrose introduced Clem’s performance just as I finished tuning the string.

 _Well, there’s no turning back now._ I took a moment to glance at myself in the mirror and try to compose myself. My gingery red hair looked limp and sweaty, my skin pale with anxiety - altogether, I looked just as bad as I felt. Nothing for it, Marissa. _Get out there and support your best friend!_ And with a great breath, I grabbed my violin and strode from the room.

Upon leaving, Clem’s playing was instantly audible: the loud, brassy sounds of an expertly played trumpet even raised my low spirits. I knew the crowd hung on every phrase; and the lack of screaming was definitely a good sign! Arriving at a secluded spot backstage, I confirmed that everything went well by watching the stage monitors. 

I got so absorbed I never saw the woman in black approach. “You must be Marissa Evers.”

“Huh? Wha--” Her arm shot out into my stomach and impacted, hard. A Raven?! I was shocked - why did she punch me? But then my legs gave out in a rush. Had she injected me with something?

“Ma’am, was that necessary? We have no confirmation.” I couldn’t rouse enough energy to be surprised that another person had snuck up on me. I tried to rise from where I was lying on the floor, but I slipped in some kind of liquid.

“There’s no need to drag everyone to the Pit this evening, kid. They’re zombies.” The woman’s voice was raspy and filled with scorn. “The one on stage smells more than half-rotten, and they’re covered in perfume.”

Oh, she thought I was a zombie, too. I should have been more worried about that, but my stomach burned. Clem! They wanted to hurt Clem; I wouldn’t let that happen. Finally getting to my hands and knees despite the slick surface, I crawled. I could still hear the trumpet, if I could just warn them...

“For God’s sake, ma’am. The least you could do is kill the thing - it’s making a mess!” The man sounded impatient as he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. I struggled to get away, but wasn’t able to break his grip.

“Not my mess.” The woman sounded uninterested, as something cold and metal pressed against the back of my head.

“It never is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Poor 'Riss and Clem. I really like them - I may "resurrect" them for another story. 
> 
> _Constructive_ criticism welcome. I love comments, they make my day. 
> 
> I have a [Tumblr!](https://shadowsparrowfic.tumblr.com)


End file.
